It occurs to me, Mister Ed, that you might enjoy MOAB Roulette. What you do, see, is wiggle your mouse around the grid of page numbers at the top of the page and click randomly on one of them. Lo!! A whole period of MOAB history, redolent with rich creative humor and spicy ne'er-do-well rejoinders, will unfold before your eyes for your meditating pleasure. From this exercise you will garner, over time, many deep and fulfilling insights. We ask nothing in exchange beyond writing them down and explaining these discoveries to the rest of us.

A fly sat on a crumb of cow dung being carried away by the rainwater flowing down the street. The streamlet took it to the end of the village where a stupa stood. The streamlet then went around the holy structure taking the fly on a circumambulation and finally joined into a nearby tributary. The fly was born into a human being in its next life,

Truth and falsehood proceed from thy tongue the means of purification and the exalted mouth of all the gods. Thou, dwelling in the heart of all beings, knowest this affair.

Well, ex-kyoooooooze ME, MISTER hawk!! But my little poetic exposition on Rapaire's Folly was NO rote endeavour. It was crafted with rich creative resonance in every syllable, I'll have you know!! You gotcher noive, yonker!

'Tis the sound of the trumpet, the clarion call Of the only horn ever preceding the Fall, The sound of divinity, reaching through sound To brighten the heart of the souls on the ground. The brass of the Gods, of the angels and zephyrs As greater than others as Jove among heifers! And who is the owner, the artist who plays it? When most every mortal doth fail who essays it? 'T is the one and the only, the mighty Rapaire Whose sounds are so golden, who fing'ring so fair! So honor him loudly, call his name to announce it. But ignore what he says when you go to pronounce it! The fair lass with flair on the stair in her lair Gives evidence plain, 't is pronuncéd Rapaire

Versails: Illinois and Indiana, mispronounced after the place in France Valparayso: Indiana, mispronounced after the town in Chile. San Josie: Illinois, mispronounced after the place in California. Kwinzee: Mass., mispronounced after towns in Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, California, and Washington (that I know of). Sandeeaygo: California, mispronounced after Santiago, Spain and Chile. Paris: Missouri, Idaho and other places; mispronounced after the city in France. Istraytrahgoddamnsumbich: after Ystradgynlais, Wales; not even attempted by anyone in their right mind.

Dearest creature in creation, Study English pronunciation. I will teach you in my verse Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse. I will keep you, Suzy, busy, Make your head with heat grow dizzy. Tear in eye, your dress will tear. So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.

Just compare heart, beard, and heard, Dies and diet, lord and word, Sword and sward, retain and Britain. (Mind the latter, how it's written.) Now I surely will not plague you With such words as plaque and ague. But be careful how you speak: Say break and steak, but bleak and streak; Cloven, oven, how and low, Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.

Billet does not rhyme with ballet, Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet. Blood and flood are not like food, Nor is mould like should and would. Viscous, viscount, load and broad, Toward, to forward, to reward. And your pronunciation's OK When you correctly say croquet, Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve, Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Here's another weird one: Leicester. I believe the English pronounce it "lester". There's no explaining such things, you just have to learn them as you go along. Then there's Aloysius, and I think they pronounce that one "Al-o-ish-us".

I always thought it was "Rap-pair" too...until Rapaire himself advised me otherwise. Amo's problem is that he won't accept it even when he is told what it is by the man whose name it IS. Shocking behaviour. That's why I think he (Amos) should be tossed into a vat full of Republican wombats and Shatnerized until he experiences a change of heart. ;-)

Should we be expected to know weird pronounciations of names that have no bearing on the spelling of said name according to USA English? (Well actually, perhaps Amos should. He is originally from the Northeast USA, possibly New England, though I don't recall.) All I know is I never understood why my late mother-in-law from a town in Massachusetts spelled Worcester, should insist it is pronounced Wooster. Sounded suspiciously "across the pond" to me.

Seems to me the boy is simply putting on airs. Not surprising, really, when you consider how he tears around Polkadotio, Idaho in a waistcoat of claret velvet, lace cravat, high boots, and tricorne hat with a rapier dangling from his belt.

Ed, it is plain that you are rocketing toward the auspicious title of "MOABS Elder". And so quickly! The attainment of this title will permit you to utter bizarre nonsequitors and obscure bafflegab at will without fear of negative repercussions. You will receive compimentary parrots in the mail and be able to wear polkadot underwear at prestigious gatherings.

The clove tree is a tall, evergreen tree, of the Myrtaceae plant family, growing up to 39 feet in height. The cloves of the clove tree are produced from the mature, red buds which appear in the rainy season; the cloves are 'beaten' from the tree and dried. Clove has been cultivated for over 2,000 years; it is though to be native of Indonesia. Today, the main producers of clove essential oil are Indonesia and Madagascar

Clove essential oil is distilled by: * clove bud essential oil is water distilled from the buds of the clove tree ( 60-90% eugenol). * clove leaf essential oil is water distilled from the leaves of the clove tree (82-88% eugenol. * clove stem essential oil is steam distilled from the stalks or stems of the clove tree (90-95% eugenol).

Clove bud essential oil is yellow in color with a sweet-spice fragrance; clove leaf essential oil is brown in color with a wood fragrance. Clove stem essential oil is a 'combination' of both clove bud and clove leaf characteristics; clove stem oil is also yellow in color but with a wood fragrance.

Clove stem oil is widely used in the perfumery industry; it is also substituted in the food industry for clove bud oil, due to its lower cost. Clove leaf oil is used in the chemical industry, primarily for the extraction of the chemical component eugenol. In addition to being used in the fragrance and food industries in cosmetics, drinks, dental products, perfumes and food, clove oil is also used to produce glue, varnish and to print ink.

Clove oil is a powerful therapeutic-grade essential oil long known for its anti-inflammatory, antimicrobial and antifungal properties. It is the highest scoring single ingredient ever tested for its antioxidant capacity on the ORAC scale.. As a powerful antioxidant, it has immune system enhancing properties.

The therapeutic properties of clove oil are analgesic, antiseptic, antispasmodic, anti-neuralgic, carminative, anti-infectious, disinfectant, insecticide, stimulant, stomachic, uterine and tonic. Clove oil can be used for acne, bruises, burns and cuts, keeping infection at bay and as a pain reliever. It helps with toothache, mouth sores, rheumatism and arthritis, and is used in aromatherapy.

Placing a few drops of clove oil on a cotton ball and then placing the cotton ball in a linen cupboard will not only fragrance the cupboard, but will help to keep fish moths at bay. (Cloves are also used in domestic cooking and baking and in the food industry)..

Clove oil is used by fish researchers, in surgeries and tagging as it is highly effective as a fish anaesthetic with potentially few or no side effects (adding vodka, or grain alcohol, will make the fish expire, if desired).

As it is one of the more 'toxic' oils, clove essential oil should be used with care. While considered safe in very small quantities as a food additive, it is toxic to humans. If ingested in sufficient quantity, It can cause life-threatening complications, including acute respiratory distress, liver failure, and central nervous system depression.

Amos, you are digging a very deep hole for yourself with your stubborn refusal to admit the error of your ways. "Rapaire" is an Irish word. It is not pronounced in the same way as it would be were it an English word with the same spelling. There are many examples of this sort of thing in the languages of the British Isles and Ireland...words that aren't pronounced as a North American would expect. Let me give you some...

To protest against these sort of things and maintain that they are "wrong", simply because they do not meet your expectations is, sir, only to display either your own ignorance...or your unwillingness to show flexibility in the face of culture... ;-) What you are objecting to is that your intial assumption regarding the pronunciation of Rapaire's name should be questioned at all! You consider it an affont to your supposed infallibility. Well, if you were the Pope, I could understand such an attitude and have compassion for it, but in your case there is little excuse for it.

RaPayre can pronounce it Rapparree 'til those cows of Ed's come home. But since all I had to go by was spelling until I was adopted by MOM, it is firmly imprinted in my mind as RaPayre.

Not wanting to insult him, however, by mispronouncing his moniker, I just think of him as "sh*t-for-brains."

On to bigger and better things. If you are not envious to learn that I just returned home from a performance of the "Alumni of the Yale Men's Russian Chorus," you should be. Mudcat's own Charlie Baum is a member - that's how I learned they were coming to Duke Chapel in Durham.

Rapaire himself has taken me to task. But you have not been educated in the fundamentals of language. They are agreed-upon by necessity.

What Rapaire wants to do is the equivalent of naming your son "Asshole" but telling everyone you want it pronounced "Benjamin". I am not being obstreperous; rather, it is he who is being obstreperous, contrary minded, and mule like. And, in your fit of artificial superiority sans merit, your good self as well.

Stubborn as the proverbial mule, aren't you, Amos? I have known for years that Rapaire pronounces his name Rap-a-ree, and I recall informing you of that some time back. Still you insist on pronouncing it your way even after HE tells you how it is pronounced. What cheek! What lack of respect for your fellow man! I must say that you have crossed the line of proper manners on this matter and I, for one, hope that Rapaire gives you the drubbing you so richly deserve. You should be placed in the stocks, there to be spat upon, jeered at, and pummeled with overripe fruit by the idle mob who gather in the marketplace.

He SAYS he wants it pronounced Raparee but he refuses to spell it that way. Obstreperous nincompoop insists it must be spelled RapAYR. As in, "Radiator and transmission RaPAYRE". Pay him no mind, sirrah. His idle threats will not tell in any way. Being posted as a poltroon by yon typophobe is an honor among men.

It is pronounced "Rap-a-ree", sir. I permit one such slip, on the second you will be asked to defend your besmirchment of my honour with your life or be posted as a poltroon.

We memorized poems. One that we memorized was the last stanza to Bryant's "Thanatopsis":

"...Go not, like the quarry slave at night, scourged to his dungeon, But sustained and soothed by an unfaltering grace approach thy grave Like one who wraps the draperies of his couch around him And lies down to pleasant dreams."

This year I turned off the lights and hid at the back of the house. The one time I turned on lights, to allow my next door neighbor to find her way to my rosemary bush to cut some for the chicken she was roasting, a car pulled up at her house and started to unload kiddos. We had to shout over that no one on our end of the block was doing trick or treat. They loaded up and drove up the block. What ever happened to just walking around in your own neighborhood?

However, were I to do Halloween, I think I'd answer my door as Florence Foster Jenkins. That would scare the bejeezus out of the tots, wouldn't it?

The Great Tragedy of All Hallow's Eve is that so many people invest so much in becoming Someone They Prefer, whether a Princess or an Oreo Cookie or A Brayve Knighte. And then they are lured with sweets into a sugar frenzy unto a deathlike unconsciouness. When they wake up, lo!! Hallow's Day has come, and they are the very same person they were before the whole thing began.

Then they wait a year and do the whole thing over again, like little Hamlet Sisyphi on a turning Hamletster Wheel of Life. Pant, pant,. pant. Strive to Be and fall back. Over and over. I tell you it is a grim scene, and it is a darn good thing we have love, summer and fucking in between, to dull the sharp suffering of this wicked endless loop.

His shots are blank and blank his look. Blank the expression, blank the book. Blank is the blanky by his side Blank is the sky, when out he rides. And when in town upon mare's shank The townfolk yell "Blank blankety blank!" Yet heaven have we still to thank For this imaginary friend, so blank. We know him to be safe, our cobber 'Cuz there just aren't any blank robbers. Harsh words may bring on blows or spanking, But never just standing there and blanking. Let us be grateful and give thanks Our friend's whole life is filled with blanks.

Could this finest of rhymers, have had wee too much scotch in his haggis (crack variety) when he went a ploug'in?

Even Stomp'in Tom didn't ryme that much when " tight" on Skinners Pond 'shine....and, especially not when encountering a mouse. (probably wouldn't have sold many songs with that, matey). Though, Tom likely wouldn't have the guts to eat the foul smell'in stuff.

I have it that William Topaz McGonagall's style was fashoned after Roberts. In fact, I have it that they were cousins....William having been willed a kilt frequently worn by Bobby when plough'in...maybe even encountering a mouse. ( Scotch and haggis drool stains are said to still be on it. But, I can'na reveal me sources, for fear of getting a haggis parcel bomb in the mail).

TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785 by: Robert Burns